


Magic is Might

by tenstepstotheleft



Series: Magic is Might [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-23 21:39:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1580459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenstepstotheleft/pseuds/tenstepstotheleft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a recently discovered wizard, Arthur must escape his father's murderous intentions and enter the wizarding world of Hogwarts all alone as the son of a known wizard killer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, new fan fiction author here! you can find me on Tumblr or on FanFiction.net under the same name. Tell me what you think of it, it means a lot to me!

All quests begin with a call. The first one he remembers is when he was about five. He had boasted to Gwen that he could easily do anything, such as, say ride his tricycle off the roof. Gwen had immediately told him what a stupid dolt he was and how it wasn’t nice to lie. She absolutely forbade him from doing it. Then he absolutely had to do it.  
“You’ll break your legs!” She warned in a huff. Arthur just stuck out his tongue, and proceeded to do it anyways. He proved that he could in fact ride his trike off the roof, and he didn’t break his legs in the process. He broke his arm.  
The howls of pain brought the startled servants running in fear. They thought a bear or some such vicious animal had mauled him. Rushing to the scene, they found him clutching his arm next to a twisted heap of rubble that once was his bike. Gwen knelt on the pavement next to him, crying in shock. They where unable to get a single word out of her. How on earth had a 5 year old hauled his tiny body up to the roof?  
His second most memorable adventure was when the woods beckoned him. He had been playing in the garden, when he had heard a whispery voice. He had no idea what it was saying, and he was the only on there. Obviously, this meant it had to be talking to him. So, equipped with his sword and shield, the noble knight strode into the forest glade. (The shield being the lid of the bin and sword in fact being a deadly dagger that had been in his family for centuries). The game of knights however quickly grew far too dull for him. He had yet to find whatever had been making the strange tinkling noise. And it was getting dark. And he had lost his sword. And he had lost himself. Bother.  
He did whatever a sensible knight would do in this situation. Crawling up into a tree, he promptly fell asleep while waiting for rescue. His father, an actual knight had come to his save him. He had been searching the forest with the servants for hours, calling until his throat was hoarse. Uther had found him lying in the tree, and only because the bin lid had slipped out from Arthur’s grasp and smacked him in the head. Not saying a word, Uther just scooped up Arthur and hugged him to his chest, slowly making his way home. Late the next day Arthur woke happy and refreshed, not at all questioning how he had come to fall asleep in the woods and wake up in his room. That is, until Uther reminded him. His bottom ached for weeks afterwards.  
His last great adventure had happened just a few months later. Autumn was chasing away the summer warmth, and Arthur was bored out of his mind. Strategically placed in an empty container in the intersection of several busy streets, he could hear the coming and goings of the day without being seen. Tom, the local blacksmith, happened to be one of his targets. Earlier that day, he had overheard him talking in hushed tones to some hooded man about a sword. Arthur had decided at the ripe age of 7, it was high time he got a sword of his own. The second Tom was out of sight; he leaped out of the barrel. This was going to require some sort of skill, some sort of plan. He couldn’t dash after Tom helter-skelter like some hooligan. This was going to be what he went down in history for. Dashing back home, he grabbed out his red crayon (which was his favorite colour), and began to work out the details of the great heist.  
Later that night, just after his father had said goodnight to him, Arthur carefully pulled out his rope. The rope was merely a contraption made of many silken sheets tied together. It had taken him a while to slip them out without the maids noticing. Gliding out the French door, he tied it to one of the posts on his balcony. It had worked plenty of times in the movies, so why wouldn’t it work now? It didn’t. He tumbled with a bump into a hedge, but no worse for the wear. That wasn’t the hardest part either. The grounds where generally patrolled by guards. Despite being generally sneaky and quick, it was hard to avoid such trained eyes. Once a guard was alerted to his presence, but he was able to sneak into his regular container in the street. Which was now full of fish. It was all part of the experience he supposed.  
Finally, The son of Uther, scratched and bruised, covered in dirt, and smelling of fish arrived at Tom’s humble abode. He tiptoed up to the door, carefully turning the nob. It was locked. Darn. What an unexpected turn of events. He hadn’t planned for this. Arthur was contemplating just knocking when he saw a glow from the window. Of course he couldn’t force it open, but a window is always better then a door. Standing on his tiptoes, Arthur griped the windowsill and peered through the dark glass. Tom was hunched over a sword, and a beautiful one at that. It however wasn’t what attracted Arthur’s gaze. Carefully, Tom picked up a small orb. It seemed like it was made of glass, and somehow had captured the morning mist in it. A strange blue light pulsed from it, swirling across the plain interior of the home. It was then of course, when Tom decided to turn around. Arthur’s dawning look of horror was mirrored by Tom. Tom was at his side in seconds, gently but firmly wrapping his large hand around Arthur’s thin wrist. Falling onto his knees in the dust, he gazed up into Arthur’s eyes.  
“Arthur. What did you see?” He demanded, his deep voice was laced with a touch of urgency.  
“Nothing! I promise I saw nothing!” Arthur panicked slightly.  
“Arthur…” Tom cut himself off, almost as if he was afraid to say anything else.  
“I saw the blue thing, I’m sorry Tom!” Arthur burst, dropping his eyes ashamedly from Tom’s intense gaze. He had gotten in trouble before, but somehow this time it felt five times worse. For what seemed like an eternity, Tom was silent. Arthur was almost tempted to lift his eyes off the ground, but dared not to.  
“Its okay Arthur, but its… a gift, so you cant tell anyone about it.” Tom finally broke the crystalline silence. Arthur nodded enthusiastically.  
“Okay,” Arthur couldn’t help himself “but can I touch it?” Tom froze, a flurry of emotions flying across his face. Finally-  
“Okay Arthur, you can touch it, but be careful, okay?” He led Arthur through the no longer locked door. Mission success, although Arthur no longer had his eyes on the sword. He watched in amazement as Tom carefully pulled back the rag he had hastily thrown to cover the orb’s luminesces. Once again, the room was bathed in that strange bluish glow. Arthur watched in amazement as it projected twisted patterns across the wall. Slowly, Arthur approached the orb, looking up at Tom for reassurance. Tom nodded. Arthur reached out, his small hands touching the smooth cool glass. A voice echoed in his head.

THE ONCE AND FUTURE KING.

A swirl of colours pounded into his head, forcing their way into his eyes. They burned brightly in his skull. Arthur fell to his knees in pain, hands flying up to scratch at his eyes. The colours muted and blended to finally form images, not just blurs of light, but still burning. A great dragon cutting through the air, jaws leaking flame. A sword emerging from the cavern of its mouth, edges keen and dancing in sparks. Suddenly, the colours stopped. Arthur felt a jerk, like the floor had fallen out beneath him, and plummeted downwards. Prepared for pain, he grunted in surprise when he landed in soft springy grass. Opening his still tender eyes, he glanced around cautiously, blinking away the dots of light that swam in his vision. Somehow he had landed himself at the edge of a glassy lake, a sweet cool breeze tugging at his hair. In the midnight sky hung the heavy moon, casting diamond like light over the water. The only thing that was truly dark was a man who stood just at the edge of the lake. Arthur could not make out any distinguishing appearances. He seemed to glow with his back to the moon. He inched towards the stranger.  
“H-hello?” Arthur called out nervously. There was no reaction. Slightly braver, Arthur took a few more steps towards the man, waiting for him to spring to life. Was he even alive? He looked alive. Maybe he was a statue. A beautifully carved statue, one of the most life-like Arthur had ever seen. Arthur reached out to poke the man’s hand. Before he could, a pair of brilliant blue eyes snapped open, gazing down at him. A single name rolled through his head, gathering power like distant thunder until it was all he could hear.


	2. Chapter 1

Arthur let the images wash over him. He knew he was dreaming, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. Plus, the dream had become very familiar over the past few years. He would have it at least once a week, if luck favored him. Just a bit longer to wait, until the azure eyes pierced his mind - and his eyes opened. The bedroom was filled with the gray tones of dawn struggling to break the night, but it had not yet succeeded. The alarm clock was still a good hour from going off, the red letters contrasted sharply with the cream tones of the room. Feeling the silken sheets slide over his skin, Arthur padded over the tawny wood to the French doors. With a small click, he spread them open wide, letting the breeze drag the curtains forward. A slight fog had settled over the gardens, twirling through the hedges of the labyrinth. It was his place; he could easily navigate it with his eyes closed. He supposed that was what boredom did to you.   
All the colours looked like someone had messed with them, bringing out the grays rather then the saturated greens that he was used to. Even the bright flowers seemed to have their vivacity sucked out by the mist. It looked like it was going to stay for a while. The sky held the promise of rain later. Arthur just sighed and plopped down on the concrete of the balcony, enjoying the comfortable breeze in stark contrast to his warm body.   
It was his birthday today. He was eleven. Well, he was eleven in a couple of hours. He was no longer a boy, and he hated having that dream over and over again. It was rather childish of him. He hated the fear that the dragon conjured in him. He hated the longing for the sword. He hated most of all the curiosity that the blue-eyed stranger brought in him. He longed to know why he was just standing there, almost as if he was waiting for something. However, it did no good to be forever chasing a dream. He had to act better for his father. One day when he was old enough, his father would expect Arthur to follow in his footsteps. The years of antagonizing work and sleepless nights that led to one moment of glory. Then even more work and pain. That’s the only thing Arthur thought that Prime Ministers actually did, work and be in pain. His father was always busing doing something else, something important, something without him. He didn’t necessarily have a very lonely childhood, but he still longed to be with his father far more then he had been. Recently, he had been gone for nearly a month to some trip in India. It had been explained to him nearly a thousand times, but he still didn’t understand exactly what he was doing there. The last he had saw him was when he smiled and ruffled his hair, promising to try to be back in time for his birthday, and wishing him a happy one if he wasn’t. He would email Arthur as much as he could, telling him about the events and the meetings with important dignitaries, but not much else. Arthur would never email back.  
Not much later, Arthur began to see servants pacing back and forth through the garden, setting up a plethora of party items. If he was a kid, he would of enjoyed hiding in the bushes and jump out and scare them, and laugh as they mock-chased him through the bright leaves. But he wasn’t. Not anymore. Red streamers where thrown over the hedges, artistically draping and mingling with green leaves. Tables where resurrected from nowhere, already being covered in cloth that complimented the silverware which complemented the floral arrangements. There was heated discussion on whether or not to start constructing a tent to cover the dinning area, and therefor stave off some of the fog, but it was shot down. Apparently the great sun had decided to make an appearance today, or so claimed the weathermen. Today was going to shape up like any other August day.   
If you asked Arthur, they where putting too much effort into a simple party. He didn’t want this much. Well, maybe a couple of friends to share it with. Arthur reviewed his invite list. All the people around his age where sons and daughters of his dad’s work related friends. A Knight here, a Dame there, none of which Arthur was particularly felt attracted to. Gwen would usually be on either the top or the bottom of his friend list, and she had sunk rather low as of lately. They had recently fought about some silly thing that Arthur completely had forgotten why. Still, Gwen should apologize first. It was her fault. Arthur felt so much pressure to make this party perfect. It was a time to make a good impression for his father. Although he knew it would still be a fantastic time, he just didn’t want to go. Part of him wanted to hide, but Tom knew all of his hiding spots. And, he couldn’t let his father down. Hopefully he would make it. That would be the best present of all. However, he hadn’t heard from his father in a while. It was highly unlikely that he could catch a plane in time, much less get to his party. He was acting like a spoiled brat. Arthur slunk back into his room, missing the owl that flew high in the haze above.  
The party went rather predictably. About an hour later, Tom caught him before he had a chance to protest and the primping began. Bath, Hair, Teeth, Suit had to be matching his socks, etc. etc. Such a pain. Already he could hear the buzz of people starting to gather outside, waiting to be let into the house. Tom maneuvered Arthur to stand in the open hall, in the middle of the doorway. He tried not to fidget nervously with his scarlet tie as the doors where flung open and a flood of families came gliding in. Thousands of gifts where shoved into his hands, although the invitation had specifically said no gifts. A rapidly growing pile of perfectly wrapped presents now loomed behind him. Well, most of the gifts were really not for him. A fancy pen, a new organization system, and a collection of rather rare documents from 500+ years ago where most definitely meant for his father. This was one time that people found it easiest to schmooze up to the Prime Minister. Uther never accepted gifts, but hated letting something fall to waste. So, if you gave a gift to his son whom he loved dearly (if the paparazzi are to be believed), then it will eventually find its way into the hands of Uther.   
Arthur plastered a smile onto his face, carefully shaking the hands of every noble and half noble and quarter noble 3 times removed on his uncle’s side. Everyone was dressed to the nines, but simply so, as was the style of the day. Smooth lines and straight cuts. Girls were in bright flouncy dresses. But, the second they turned thirteen, and sometimes even before, it was like a right of passage. Suddenly there was a lot less clothing and a lot more make up. Arthur wasn’t sure if he liked that. They kind of scared him as a collective group. The grown ups had decided that Arthur would obviously make a perfect husband for whichever lucky girl he chooses. Arthur was constantly bombarded by questions of ‘who is that? Isn’t she pretty? Come and meet…., what a pleasure, we must get to know each other better.’ The constant fake laughter and eyelash batting absolutely drove him up the wall. After ages, the flow of people finally stopped. The doors where closed, and the mingling guests where ushered outside into the splendid August morning.  
The splendid August morning soon turned into a muggy August day. Adults downed too much liquor, and the lemonade tank was constantly empty. Ties had been loosened, shoes had been kicked off, and the general populace had spread themselves across the gardens like lazy lions. Arthur, who was used to wandering the gardens by himself, was growing sick and tired of finding his usually hidey spots filled with generally intoxicated happy people. They would pull him down and hug him, adding already to the sticky warmth. He spotted Gwen laughing with other kids in a very pretty yellow dress, which matched her bright personality. However, he ignored even her. He would have been more tolerable if he weren’t so anxious. the sky no longer threatened rain but guarantied it. He wished that it went ahead and poured already, it might end this dreadful affair. Arthur alone had the power to decide when the party ended; his father had at least given him that to him. Honestly, he was surprised that he didn’t end it hours ago. However, he was still waiting for his father. He desperately believed that he must make it, he just had to. Tugging on Tom’s sleeve, he whispered  
“Any news?” Tom just shook his head.  
“Sorry Arthur, he hasn’t informed us yet.”  
And Arthur would sigh and trudge off, doing yet another lap of the labyrinth of his gardens, with the added bonus of hundreds of hot sticky overly touchy people. Every time he found his way back to Tom he would ask. And the answer would remain the same. And Arthur would go trudging off again. The vicious cycle continued until Tom finally halted him from walking off by placing two hands on Arthur’s shoulders.  
“Arthur, you have a garden full of some very nice individuals who have been waiting quite a while for you to cut the cake.”  
It had been something Arthur had been waiting for his father to see. The cake was a magnificent sight, 8 tiers high, and covered with a sweet almond flavored fondant. Underneath that lay layers of buttercream frosting, raspberry syrup, and finally a light fluffy cake. It made Arthur’s mouth water just to think about it. On the front was a large golden dragon, the coat of arms for the Pendragon’s.   
Arthur sighed and walked solemnly towards the center of the gardens, like he was leading some kind of funeral procession.   
“Smile for gods sake!” Tom hissed at him. Arthur plastered his same ‘oh my, its nice to see you, I most certainly remember you even though I haven’t seen you since I was born’ smile. It worked well apparently, because none of the adults could see through it. Or if they did, they didn’t care.   
Somehow the servants where able to spread the news of the cake throughout the garden. People came stumbling out from hedges almost zombie like, looking at Arthur as if he held a particularly juicy brain. He wished. Right now it was feeling a lot more like hot melted mush. However it was much better compared to his heart. He desperately wanted his father to be there, more then he thought he had ever wanted anything ever. It made him feel foolish to want something this badly, and it sort of scared him. How on earth could he ever grow up if he always remained this childlike and dependent on a man who was almost never at his side? How could he ever grow up without Uther?   
Arthur didn’t cut the cake as much as he brutally stabbed it, smiling all the time. The raspberry jelly oozed out like blood. Guests clapped politely and the cake was quickly dispensed and toasts were given in his name. Thank god they didn’t expect him to prepare a speech yet. His mind wandered back to Bilbo Baggin’s speech in Lord of the Rings. It was something he longed to do. Disappear completely, and then head off to the mountains. Part of him still longed for a Ministry position though. It seemed his heart was torn in two. One part yearned for adventure, the other respect. He desperately tried to stamp out the flame that was his lust for excitement, it was childish of him. And he was no longer a child.   
Murmurs rippled through the gathering. The sea of sweaty bodies parted to revel Uther, smiling and applauding with the rest of the crowd, looking as cool and collected as ever. Arthur nearly dropped the knife in surprise, and he couldn’t help but return his grin. He desperately longed to just run up to his father, but he knew it would have to wait. Even so, he was content enough with his father being here. This was shaping up to be the best birthday ever.  
Abruptly, an owl swooped low over the crowd, causing a dignified lady to shriek dramatically and drop her champagne glass. The tiny glass shattered uncharacteristically loud on the marble walkway. The whole world was watching the owl wide-eyed, absolutely terrified. Silence reigned as it dived towards Arthur. He froze as the fearsome bird landed right next to him. It ruffled its brown-stripped feathers, gazing up at Arthur with wide black eyes. It made a strange twittering sound and hopped closer. Arthur panicked slightly, his eyes flickering from the owl to his father.  
Uther had never looked so full of rage in his life. Gone was his father; in his place was some sort of carefully dressed demon. He was staring at the owl with such venom Arthur was surprised that the bird didn’t drop dead. Frightened by his reaction to the unusual bird, Arthur glanced down at the owl as it inched closer once more.   
Arthur finally realized that the bird was holding something in its beak rather expectantly. A letter, made up of old-fashioned parchment, something that his father would write on for prestigious laws. Arthur wondered if his father had sent it for a moment, but then dismissed the idea. Uther was too furious at this interruption. It was specifically addressed to him in brilliant emerald ink, his name shimmering like diamonds. Overwhelmed with curiosity, Arthur hesitated. If his father disapproved of the bird, he should just shoo it away. But, he longed to know about the letter. He could feel his desire for adventure start to burn again. He itched to take the letter. Slowly and carefully as to not scare the bird, Arthur reached up to the letter, feeling soft feathers glide over the back of his hand. He tugged on it slightly, and the bird let it go, looking rather pleased with itself. That is, if owls could look pleased. Arthur swiftly flicked open the parchment.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Emrys  
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,  
Supreme half-wit, International Confed. of Wizards)  
 Dear Mr. Pendragon,  
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.  
Term begins on 1 September   
 Yours sincerely,  
Gaius  
Deputy Headmaster.


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took me so long to post the next chapter! had APs this week. Hopefully, the next few will come along!

Arthur viewed the curly script with a growing sense of disbelief. Hogwarts? What on earth was a Hogwarts? School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? Chief half-wit? Clearly these people where insane. Who on earth would send a letter using an owl, haven’t they heard of regular post before? Maybe it was a prank, a really weird prank. These people obviously had a strange sense of humor.   
Uther made a noise similar to that of a wounded bear, unnaturally loud in the massive crowd. Guards slid out from the hedges, frightening the guests by their sudden appearance. Red and gold uniforms gleamed in the now dim party atmosphere. Droplets of rain had to begun to collect in teacups, gluing party invitations that escaped the hands of their owners to miscellaneous statues. Boots clacked sharply as they strode across the pathway. Their eyes may flutter from guest to guest, but their hands never strayed from their weapons. The guns were like nothing Arthur had ever seen before. They belonged in some science fiction novel. Thin and dark, the cartridges seemed to be loaded with a pulsating green substance instead of bullets. They looked unnaturally long and lean compared to regular guns. Arthur panicked slightly. Maybe the letter had been a code. Maybe it was a terrorist threat. Arthur glanced desperately up at Uther, waiting for him to tell him what to do.  
Uther was a statue. The hatred that had defined his face had leached out, leaving him etched in stony silence. Arthur wasn’t sure if he had ever seen Uther like this before. He preferred his father in a full blown-rage, this was just unnatural. Slowly, Uther paced his way up through the crowd. They shrank from him like he was some wild beast. Fidgeting nervously as he passed by, they refused to meet his eyes. It was as if they were frightened that he would lash out at them at any second. He glided in front of the small stage that Arthur was portrayed on, and turned to address the gathering.  
“Inside. Now.” Never had Arthur heard his father speak so quietly and with such venom. He had always been calm and approachable whenever talking with people, especially with the noble dignitaries that now stood stunned. For a second, the earth stood still for Arthur. Finally the crowd took heed and began to trudge back to the mansion. Tom ushered a frantic Gwen into the river of people. She looked desperately back at Arthur, her black ringlets now weighted down by the storm. Arthur forgot he was still supposed to be angry with her, and longed to comfort her. However, he himself had no clue what was going on. The mass movement of people trying to protect their elegant clothing from the angry weather soon swallowed her. Guards eyed them down, as if they where daring them to place one foot out of line. Some paced along through the crowd, easy to spot as the frightened guests gave them an extra wide birth.  
Eventually the stragglers had been ushered into the mansion, and the doors where locked. Blinds were thrown down, curtains slammed, and all lights extinguished. It looked to Arthur as a ghost house, although it seemed more like a prison. To have hundreds of huddled beings together, unsure of why they were being detained was just wrong. Two guards stood in each doorway, and few others cleared the perimeter, crashing through the carefully tended gardens that Arthur loved so much.   
Uther nodded to the nearest guards, and then turned to Arthur. Arthur couldn’t help himself but to take a step back. It wasn’t his father who was looking at him. Not at all. In one fluid motion, Uther mounted the stage and strode over to Arthur. Tearing the letter from his clenched hand, Uther crumbled it into a pulp, as if he was waiting for it to bleed emerald ink. He rummaged in his pocket before pulling out a matchbook. Slowly, he took out a single redheaded match and struck it to life. Holding the letter out in front of the flames, he watched as the fire devoured the paper, creeping over the glittering letters and turning into charcoal black nothingness. Flicking the spent match onto the lacy tablecloth, he didn’t even make an expression when the fire began to nibble at his fingers. He made sure the letter had never existed.   
Arthur just watched in amazement. He was stunned by his father’s actions. Uther turned to him, wrapping an iron hand around his wrist.  
“Come with me.” He commanded, and strode off in the opposite direction. Arthur stumbled; he had to nearly run to catch up with his father’s long stride. He couldn’t help but to notice that they were heading away from his home, and deeper into the garden, towards his mother’s tomb.  
Arthur had never known his mother; she had died in childbirth to him. Often times he would sit and wonder what she had been like. Uther refused to talk about her at all, but if he was lucky he could get Tom to. Sometimes late at night after he had been playing with Gwen, they would both sit by the fire at their house. Tom would sit back and poor himself a drink, but not before offering hot chocolate to himself and Gwen. After a couple of minutes, Arthur would bring up his mother carefully. If he was more alert, Tom would clam up completely, but sometimes his eyes would glaze over and he would sigh.  
“Wonderful women your mother. Never met two people more completely in love with each other then your dad and her. She had Uther completely at her mercy. Ha. Only one who could put him in his place when it was needed. Lovely long blond hair and a smile to put the angels to shame. She was definitely born to be the wife of some man in office. Now she was all perfect and polite when meting other nobles and traveling the world, but when it was just them two, she would kick ‘those infernal’ heels off and run through the gardens. She had the best selection of dirty jokes too; even Uther was a bit surprised by that.”  
Arthur would then try to conjure up what she had looked like. He could imagine her in his minds eye, tall for a woman, but strong looking, and she always looked like she was smiling, her wrinkles deep around her eyes. However, it just added to her beauty. He imagined that she probably had his blue eyes, not his father’s green-gray eyes. After all, the trait had to come from somewhere. She probably smelled like the earth in summer, warm and full. She probably gave the best hugs ever.   
Arthur would then tempt the discussion onto even more dangerous grounds.  
“How did she die?” Tom’s animated face would droop in sorrow.   
“Your birth was hard on her, Arthur. Your father and her so desperately wanted a child, and they had tried so many different forms of treatment. Her body just wasn’t designed to give birth.”  
Arthur wondered if his mother blamed him for her death. He wondered if she would of liked him, would of thought him a handsome and smart boy. He wondered if she had even a chance to hold him or name him before she died because of him. He wondered a lot of things.   
The tomb was very well up kept, although Arthur barely visited it. He suspected his father came often, but he had never seen a single living soul in it. Uther stormed underneath the marble ceiling, dragging Arthur in out of the rain with him. Breathing hard from the fast pace and shivering with the cold, Arthur glanced at the stone effigy that graced His mother’s tomb. She wasn’t smiling. Whoever made it obviously didn’t know her.   
“Dad?” Arthur called out curiously, now that Uther had stopped. He had turned his back to Arthur, and was breathing heavily as well. “Fath-“  
“Shut up” Uther snarled, twirling to face Arthur, his grip on his wrist growing tighter. Arthur winced in pain and fright, trying to not cry. He was so confused. Why was his father acting like this? Uther’s face flickered as he realized what he had done. He dropped his hand like it had burned him, but refused to acknowledge Arthur. Slowly he began pacing over the marble, muttering to himself.  
“No, no, no, this is wrong. All wrong. Impossible. They can’t know. They can’t find out.”  
“What happens if they find out?” Arthur asked quietly, unable to hold back the question.  
“They cant, THEY CANT.” Uther yelled at Arthur, his eyes wide in something that looked suspiciously like fear. “They will take you, they will use you as a symbol of my failure, they will rally behind it.”  
“What is it father?” Arthur asked, afraid. Uther stopped quite suddenly.  
“I need to make a example.” He said in a monotone voice.  
“Of what?”  
“Its not tolerated. It never will be. There are no acceptations.”  
And with that, Uther marched back out into the howling storm, still tugging Arthur along. It was now dark, and it was impossible to tell what time of day it was. Tom appeared from the desecrated party site.  
“The house is secure and waiting for your orders, sire.” Uther nodded.  
“Take him, and place him downstairs.” He declared, unable to even look at his son. Arthur’s terrified gaze sought out Tom’s panicked eyes, looking for some kind of help. Tom just turned away, as if he could feel Arthur’s fear.  
“This way Arthur, please.” He nearly whispered.   
They returned to the house, but not by the main entrance. Towards the east facing side, a slanted door led to the basement. Arthur had been forbidden from going down there. Which meant naturally that Arthur had already discovered several secret ways to get down there. It was nothing much, just like a somewhat dark study with no windows. The plus red carpet covered the floor, and a few comfy chairs were scattered next to tall lamps and even taller bookcases. Completely dull for a young child at the time. Tom ushered him in and shut the door behind him. Arthur listened to the soft clink as it locked, breathing heavily.  
“I know you probably don’t know where you are, or what’s going on, but it is all going to be okay. I promise you Arthur.” Tom said, kneeling next to Arthur. “I will protect you. Trust me.” Arthur nodded, still wary. Tom then shot up and started to pace the thick carpet, muttering to himself.  
“Its too damn soon, I told them to hurry up, that it would happen soon. I told them to be prepared, but was they? No. They hid themselves in the bloody crowd, like fools. They didn’t believe me; they didn’t think you had it in you. And now they are locked in a house of a murderer. They will be routed out, they will be hunted down, and they will be killed. Idiots!” He exploded angrily. Arthur watched from the sidelines anxiously.  
Finally, tom stop pacing and stood in front of Arthur, looking down at him with something like pity.  
“I have to go now Arthur… I need to plan; we will keep you safe, I promise. I will return. Do you trust me?”  
Arthur nodded. Tom smiled, and it seemed the first in a long time.   
“Good. I will be back soon.”  
And so Arthur waited in his plush prison.


End file.
